


But never doubt i love

by Sylph_Dancer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Asgard, Awkwardness, Bodyswap, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Supervillains, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylph_Dancer/pseuds/Sylph_Dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever universes there are out there, whatever troubles the Avengers could face, whatever mischief the three could get themselves into, whatever skeletons they have in their closets—Bucky can't imagine a world where he and Steve won't want to spend their days pressing endless love letters to Tony's skin.</p><p>A collection of Stuckony ficlets I'm (currently) too lazy to turn into anything bigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But never doubt i love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the prompt "i had a one night stand the night before i started a college class and WHOOPS I ACCIDENTALLY BANGED THE PROFESSOR"

 “It’s just one night, Tones,” Rhodey wheedles, and Tony turns from his whiteboard to face his friend with a hard glare. “Listen, I know you’ve been angry since Fury threw down the hammer, but—”

“Oh, please,” Tony snarls, capping his dry-erase marker with ferocity and slamming it on his desk. “More like the asshole pissed in my goddamn cereal. I am a _leading expert_ on mechanical engineering. I practically _invented_ the concept of arc reactors—” Rhodey rolls his eyes, “—and starting in three weeks, I’m supposed to babysit a bunch of children who either somehow didn’t learn it in high school, or they’re only looking to fill their core requirements—”

“Not every high school has Engineering 101, and _please_ , like you didn’t do that when you were in college—”

“—and who’ll be staring at me blank-eyed, most of them probably don’t even care about science—”

“It’s only for a semester, and besides, it’s not like you haven’t known about this for months—”

“I have more important things to be doing than—”

“Like what?” Rhodey crosses his arms, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Working yourself to the bone? Don’t think I didn’t notice you haven’t touched the burrito I got you for lunch. Look, all I’m asking is that you act your age for once and come drink with your friends like a normal twenty-four-year-old.”

“Why? So you can attempt to flirt with Carol at that nasty bar with the weird taxidermy?” Tony quips, and Rhodey sighs, though the flush in his cheeks betrays him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. And since when have I ever been normal?”

It's not like it isn't true. Young though he may be for a professor, as an ex-prodigy who graduated college with two doctorates at fourteen, Tony is more than qualified for his position. What he is not qualified for, however, is teaching _Engineering 101_ instead of upper-level, specialized mechanical engineering courses to graduate students like he has for the past three years.

Fury is such a _dick_.

“One night, Tones. You need to get off campus. Just for a little bit. Get drunk and forget, wiggle your ass at some stranger, maybe get laid.”

“You sound like Clint,” Tony grumbles, then groans when Rhodey looks away guiltily. “Are you serious? The last time we went out drinking with him, he vomited on my shoes!”

 “That was three years ago.”

“I was wearing _sandals_!”

“Hogan and Lang will keep Barton from—”

“ _Those two_? Scott’ll probably cheer him on, and I love Happy, but I don’t need to hear him wax poetic about Pepper’s eyes for half an hour like he did at the holiday dinner party.”

“What did you want me to do?” Rhodey pinches the bridge of his nose. “Banner, Foster, and Cho are all busy, and I doubt I can convince Lensherr and Xavier to stop boning each other and actually leave the house.”

“Fine, okay, whatever, I’ll go with you,” Tony grouses, rolling his eyes as Rhodey grins and throws an arm around his shoulder. “But we’re not going to the taxidermy bar.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re lucky Richards was busy.”

“If you invited that corner-cutting, uppity ass, smug little pseudo-scientist, I swear—”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Tony has a lot more than just Reed Richards’ absence to be thankful for. For one, Rhodey did not, in fact, take them to the weird bar with the stuffed dead animals everywhere, but instead brought them to The Gallery, a brand-new nightclub with a waiting list a mile long and a reputation for taste in clientele. Much to the delight of Clint and Happy, Rhodey had managed to secure VIP passes, which meant Tony had the fortune of spending more time sipping a martini on a cushy recliner and watching one very attractive blond man in a too-tight grey shirt and leather jacket swing his hips on the dance floor instead of waiting in line for hours.

Tony takes another sip, keeping his gaze fixed on the man, who keeps shooting him sweet smiles that melt into wicked smirks each time he catches Tony’s gaze. Tony doesn’t have a type, per se, but it’s hard to resist a man built like a brick shithouse with a shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Dorito, especially when said man keeps eyeing him and licking his lips like he’s going to ruin Tony the minute he gets his hands on him.

He’s got half a mind to go over there and actually talk to the man instead of staring at him from the seating area—Rhodey’s too busy texting Danvers, half-listening to Happy bellow drunken praises about Pepper, and Clint’s off on the dance floor somewhere making a fool of himself, so there’s no one to tease him—until a bombshell with his brown hair tied up in a bun and his ass stuffed into a skintight pair of jeans wraps a sleek prosthetic arm around the blond man’s waist.

Tony meets the new man’s gaze, startled and a little disappointed, and swallows hard at the look in the man’s eyes. His gaze is burning, crooked smile dirty enough to send shivers up Tony's spine and a flush to his cheeks as the man’s eyes trail down his form.

He averts his eyes, downing the rest of his martini. Tony may only be twenty-four, but he knows this game, knows he doesn’t deal well with one night stands, let alone threesomes. He’d get attached too easily, and to two heartthrobs like that …

 _Still_ … Unable to stop himself, he chances another glance, only to be met by disappointment; the two are nowhere to be seen. It appears Tony has lost his chance. The realization is surprisingly harsh, and Tony excuses himself to grab a bottle of vodka from the bar, ready to forget the way the two strangers had left sparks in his belly just from looking at him, because that is _criminal_ , and Tony isn’t going to be a victim tonight.

Or so he thinks; rather, he’s so caught up in distracting himself from moping that he doesn’t notice the two hungry gazes following him or the way the two men slip up behind him, covetous gleams in their eyes.

“I’ll admit, I’m a little disappointed,” a man hums in Tony’s ear, and he fumbles with the vodka bottle, cursing, turning to face the smiling blond. “Could’ve sworn you were looking for more than just an eyefuck.”

“I was—am,” Tony manages; normally he’s smoother than this, but the way the blond is undressing him with his eyes is very distracting. “I mean—I thought—”

An arm slips around his shoulder, squeezing, and Tony whines a little at the strength of it. “Maybe you should stop thinking,” the brunet breathes in his ear, “and leave the rest up to the two of us.”

The man’s grip tightens, and Tony’s mouth opens and closes. “You were right, Buck,” the blond murmurs, big hands grabbing Tony’s hips in a possessive gesture, “he _is_ a blusher.”

“Whaddya know,” the brunet drawls, nipping at Tony’s ear, and Tony shudders at the way the man’s fingers trail up his chest and torso, setting his nerves on fire. “How’s about we see how far down that blush goes?”

A hasty text to Rhodey, a somehow erotic motorcycle ride, and three shameless public makeout sessions later, they’re in Tony’s apartment, and Tony finds himself sandwiched between two men who seem intent on taking him apart very, _very_ slowly.

“Tony,” he gasps out, squirming as one of the men licks his way up Tony’s neck, nibbling at his earlobe, “Just so you know what name to scream.”

“Steve Rogers,” the blond says, casual, tugging Tony’s shirt from his pants and ripping it open, sending buttons everywhere  _holy shit that’s hot_ , “and I think we need to put a stop to that sass.”

“Why don't you make me,” Tony challenges, and Steve’s smile widens. “What about you, sweet cheeks?”

“James Barnes,” the man pants, wrapping a hand around Tony’s cock, “but you can call me Bucky.”

Tony snorts. “Seriously? Buckyyyyy _ohgodpleasedothatagain_ —”

 

* * *

 

When Tony wakes up shivering to an empty bed, he’s startled to find himself so deeply disappointed. That is, until he catches sight of a sticky note on his bedside table that reads _Lunch Sunday?_ in pretty, curving script above not one, but _two_ phone numbers. There’s a part of him that’s wary—he barely knows either of them, and Tony’s never been any good at relationships—but there’s another, much larger part of him that remembers the way Steve had ducked his head when he smiled and how Bucky had curled his arms around him afterwards, burying his face in Tony’s hair, and Tony’s heart tugs at the memory.

Without hesitating, he puts the numbers in his phone and curls back up with a yawn—he’ll text them tomorrow, after he gets some more sleep and lets his voice rest a little, because _wow_ , his throat kind of hurts now.

Rhodey was right—this was a _great_ way to forget about Engineering 101.

 

* * *

 

**To: Punk**

From: Bucky

_guess who’s teaching mech eng_

 

**To: Bucky**

From: Steve

_That one famous guy, right? The one who invented the arc reactor?_

 

_Bucky sent a picture._

 

**To: Bucky**

From: Steve

_holy shit_

 

**To: Punk**

From: Bucky

_you might want to get over here_

**To: Punk**

From: Bucky

_like now_

 

* * *

 

To say that Tony is surprised when he turns around to face the fresh faces of his eight o’clock Engineering 101 and sees his boyfriend of two weeks staring back at him from the third row would be an understatement.

From the looks of things, it seems Bucky shares his astonishment, judging by the way he chokes on the breakfast bar in his mouth, causing in the two other students—oh god, he’s a _student_ —to scooch towards him hastily, asking him if he’s okay.

The part of Tony’s mind that isn’t currently in a panic screams at him to act casually, and he clears his throat hastily, fumbling with his whiteboard marker. “I—I’d like to start off by telling you all that if you’re taking this just so you can fill a credit requirement, you made a big mistake. I didn’t spend sixteen years in school just to drone to an uninterested group of young adults.”

Dammit, he had a whole speech prepared and everything. How is Bucky _here_? “It is my primary goal to make every last one of you actually enjoys and works hard in my class.”

He doesn’t even _look_ like a college student. What college student is built like a goddamn Adonis? “Yes, there will be homework and labs, and lots of them. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Admittedly, Tony doesn’t look like a college professor, but _still_ —and why _this_ class period? Who willingly takes an eight o’clock class, anyway? “When you leave this class, you _will_ have a new love for Mechanical Engineering, even if I have to cram that love down your throats,” he says primly, and while the rest of the class chuckles, Bucky’s eyes fly straight to Tony’s throat—Tony doesn’t have to read minds to know he’s thinking about how deep he’s _crammed_ his cock down Tony’s throat (and how much Tony has enjoyed it).

Needless to say, while Tony (somehow, miraculously) manages to enchant the rest of the class with a portable arc reactor, three rubber bands, and a broken pencil, he also juggles a knot of panic in the pit of his stomach as well as a slowly growing hard-on, which wouldn’t even be a problem, except Bucky won’t stop staring at him, and it feels like he’s _burning_ and it’s making his knees a little weak.

When class (finally, _finally_ ) gets out, Tony collapses at his desk, shooting a glare at Bucky, who, unsurprisingly, has decided to hang back, approaching Tony’s desk as the last student files out the door. “The fact that you’re like eighteen would have been nice to know before you stuck your dick in my ass.”

“Twenty, actually,” Bucky tells him, placing his hands on the desk and boxing Tony in. “And you loved it.”

“Maybe,” Tony allows— _hell yes I did_ , he thinks, and shoves that thought down, “And you’re also my student, Jesus fucking Christ, how does that even _happen_ —”

“I mean, I’ll admit, it’s not exactly a pleasant surprise,” Bucky drawls, and Tony stares at him, incredulous.

“ _Not_ —I’m going to be _grading your homework_.” Tony jabs a finger into his chest. “You’ll be taking my tests and doing my labs and—”

“Giving you blowjobs under your desk?” Bucky quips, and Tony glares at him. “I texted Steve, by the way. He’ll be here in about—”

The door swings open and Steve bursts through, panting slightly. “Now,” Bucky finishes.

“It’s true, then.” Steve hurries over to the two, mouth scrunched in a frown.

“…So what now?” Bucky demands. “I mean, this ain’t exactly something we can just gloss over.”

“This doesn’t change anything for me,” Steve says, slow and decisive. “I still want this. Want _you_ , Tony."

“Easy for you to say,” Bucky grumbles. “Technically, he ain't your teacher.”

“We’ve gone out on like three dates,” Tony protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. Steve only takes his hands, eyes painfully bright with hope.

“It’s enough for me,” Steve says softly. “Call me a fool, but I’m not ready to give this up just yet.”

“This is a horrible idea,” Bucky says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Not saying that a lot of your ideas aren’t horrible, Stevie, but this one ranks up there.”

“You don’t have to try if you don’t want to,” Steve challenges.

Bucky’s eyes narrow; he wraps a possessive arm around Tony’s waist. “I didn’t say that.”

 _This is a really bad idea_ , Tony thinks. “Fuck it,” he says aloud. “Why the hell not?”

 

* * *

 

Tony learns numerous things about his boyfriends in the weeks that follow. One, the owner and head mechanic of the auto shop Bucky works at is helping Bucky pay his way towards a degree in Mechanical Engineering; Steve, on the other hand, has landed a contract after submitting his portfolio to an art gallery, which is impressive considering he’s only halfway to earning a degree in Fine Arts. Two, both his boys are proud hopeless romantics, and will spend an absurd amount of time dragging him on supremely cheesy dates and showering him with affection. And three, judging from Tony’s current position, spread out on his desk with Steve stretching him wide and Bucky sliding down his throat, both men seem to enjoy the student-teacher element of their relationship a little too much.

“Imagine,” Steve pants, “how scandalized,” he punctuates this with a thrust that forces a sharp whimper from Tony’s throat, “your students would be,” he shifts back, angling his hips so his cock grinds harshly against Tony’s prostate, and he squeaks, frantic, legs trembling in Steve’s tight grip, “if they found out how much their professor likes being _filled_?”

“If they could hear how sweet you sound,” Bucky pants, rolling his hips, and Tony swallows fluttering and sweet around him, hands grasping at Bucky’s thighs, “when you choke on my cock— _nngh_ , that’s it, sweetheart, like that.”

It’s—so _much_ like this, Tony thinks hazily, caught between the two and their overpowering, enveloping frames; he feels so _full_ , nerves alight with pleasure that buzzes warm and strong in his veins, dizzying, crackling up his spine, all the way to the tips of his fingers. He wants more, he wants them to take him apart piece by piece, fill him up until all he knows is the way they feel, swallowing him up—

Without warning, there’s the sound of the classroom door swinging open and the clip of heels across the ground, and the three freeze, Bucky pulling back sharply and Steve’s hips stuttering to a halt.

The footsteps approach Tony’s office, and then the door handle shakes. “Tony?” Pepper’s voice rings out clear and curious, and Bucky’s hands tighten in his hair. “He never locks his door.”

There’s a pause, then: “Rhodey probably made him take a nap.”

There’s so much fondness in her voice that Tony almost— _almost_ feels guilty; then he catches Steve’s gaze, filled with mischief, and stifles a shocked yelp when he feels Steve thrust deep, rubbing slow and cruel against his sweet spot. A moment later, Bucky continues his thrusting, and when he feels the pads of two fingers press hard against his perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside, Tony’s eyes roll back, trembling with the effort to keep quiet.

Just as the click of Pepper’s heels fades down the hall, Steve and Bucky come near-simultaneously on soft groans, Steve slamming in deep and keeping his hips pressed flush against Tony’s ass, Bucky tightening his grip in Tony’s hair as he goes soft in his mouth. The sensation of the two pressed tightly up against and inside him, big and full and twitching, is beyond overwhelming, and Tony comes with a jerk and a quiet whine, spurting come all over his chest and up to his chin.

Bucky pulls out of his mouth with a satisfied hum, brushing a sticky strand of hair from Tony’s forehead. “Mm. I could get used to this.”

“Nngh,” Tony manages, and Bucky’s gaze softens; he leans over, pressing a kiss to Tony’s red, swollen lips.

“I can’t believe you let us do this,” Steve confesses, panting as he releases Tony’s ankles and pulls out, leaning down to bracket Tony with his arms. “Again, I mean.”

“You’re not taking any of my classes ever again,” Tony says hoarsely, and Bucky chuckles, nuzzling his cheek. “I can’t concentrate with you eyefucking me all the time.”

“Whatever you say, Professor Stark,” Bucky tells him, laughing when Tony smacks his shoulder, and yeah, this was a bad idea, but Tony doesn’t think being bad has ever felt quite so good.

**Author's Note:**

> so like  
> prompts are nice
> 
> (hint hint hint)


End file.
